


Escapism

by MaxOfTheApocalypse



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Marijuana, Social Anxiety, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxOfTheApocalypse/pseuds/MaxOfTheApocalypse
Summary: First-person experience of being dragged to a party you don't want to go to when you have social anxiety.





	Escapism

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago for school and just now found it. It seemed pretty aight, so I post.

The first thing I noticed about the room was the noise. People were laughing and shouting and hollering and it was so loud. I wanted to leave the moment my sweet silence was tarnished. Next, I saw the lights. Multicolored and blinding, flashing across the dirty room, illuminating the stains of cheap, diluted beer. Smears of makeup and Cheeto dust adorned the cushioned couches and seats, some of which harboring passed out teens. The pungent odors of alcohol accompanied by sweat, strong perfumes and colognes, and vomit wafted through the air, sickening me. My clammy, drenched hands contrasted with my cotton-dry mouth, though I didn’t dare drink anything within this house. I clung to the walls, searching for an empty room. A particularly high pitched squeal caught my attention when I saw a girl fall on her face trying to enter the bathroom. I quickly rushed to take her place before she could stand, locking the door behind me. She banged on the door and screamed profanities for a few minutes before seeming to lose interest. I gazed into the mirror, regretting my decision to come here. I knew I wouldn’t have fun; I knew I hated parties. Still, I find it so difficult to say no when I’m asked something by a friend. The music outside continued to blare. I had no idea what song was playing or who it was by, but I doubt even the Dj did. The bass overpowered the melody and drowned out the lyrics, destroying any meaning the song may have held. I took out my phone from my pocket. There were three missed calls and a slew of texts asking where I was, each one more illegible than the last. I checked the time: 1:17 AM. The party started a few hours ago, but my friend wanted to be “fashionably late.” There was no set end time, but I doubted it would last beyond 4:00 AM. Still, that left at least a few more hours stuck here. Even after the party ends, I had ridden here with my friend. He would be in no shape to drive if his texts were anything to go by. Slowly, I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. I peered through the crowd, searching for a more permanent hiding place. Finally, I found what I was looking for. There were fairly empty stairs, guarded only by a few giggling stoners. They wouldn’t be difficult to get past. I crept out of the bathroom and swiftly made my way across the pseudo-living room-dance floor. Ducking under swaying arms and dodging around staggering legs, I made it to the base of the stairs. The trio of potheads paused their laughter to look up at me. For a moment, I thought they would try to stop me or offer me a “hit,” but they just scooted closer to the walls to let me past. I thanked them quickly and rushed up the stairs. At last, I found an empty bedroom. I entered and locked the door behind me. Judging by the size of the room, this was the master suite. I collapsed onto the bed and covered my ears with a soft, downy pillow to block out the remaining noise from the party downstairs. This party would be my prison for the night, but this dark, quiet room offered some escape.


End file.
